


Ravenswick

by yeettoss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Undercover Missions, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-11-24 09:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeettoss/pseuds/yeettoss
Summary: Some mistakes are bigger jerks than others...and Charlie Weasley was Clementine's biggest mistake of all. Rivals from the beginning, Clem can't see how four years spent apart will have done anything to mend the tension between them, especially now that the Order expects them to work together.HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX





	1. ONE

**IN SHORT. **

Clementine Waters never thought she would have to face Charlie Weasley again. 

Having worked for Miranda Honeycutt for the last four years, Clem has learnt many things - including how to spot a liar. She's always had an itch to uncover the truth, so when a mysterious group of visitors frequent Miranda's private parlour at the Honeycutt Tea House, she's determined to figure out what's really going on behind the closed doors. 

It's an unfortunate side effect that her nosiness leads to a reunion with the one person she never wanted to see again. Someone who she thought had forgotten all about her the moment he left for Romania. 

* * *

In short, Charlie Weasley is just as bad for her as she is for him. 


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone were to ask her...

If anyone were to ask, Clementine Waters would say she possessed the average amount of patience one would expect from a sensible young witch. She'd been brought up by two madly in-love parents who taught her to be slow to anger and quick to forgive. Compared to her free-spirited older brother and cheeky little sister, Clem could be described as down to earth. Sweet, even. 

Everyone said so...unless everyone happened to include Charlie Weasley. 

The trouble between them had started off innocently enough, with a handful of rogue newts and a destroyed caldron cake on their first day of Hogwarts. 

The Sorting Hat had done them no favours by placing them in the same house; an act that had condemned the rest of Gryffindor to endure frequent rows between the two. Charlie was oblivious, self-absorbed and childish. Clem was stubborn, fiercely competitive and too proud for her own good. When they came together, they clashed like colliding planets - one of them usually ended up worse off than the other. 

One of their arguments had famously sent the rest of their house scurrying for cover after Clem hurled her copy of Advanced Potion Making at Charlie's head from across the common room with frightening accuracy after she overheard him making fun of her new jumper. Their bickering followed them out onto the Quidditch pitch, where there teammates quickly became exasperated by their desire to out-fly the other. 

But over the years the shouting-matches that could clear a room and the continuous banter eventually mellowed. The Hogwarts rumour-mill ran rampant in their sixth year, when the two of them were spotted studying in the library together, and almost exploded when they were caught coming back to the castle after a midnight stroll around the grounds by Filch. 

Their lack of animosity had the entire school talking but like all things, it didn't last. Their budding friendship came apart in a spectacular fashion during their graduation - a memorable day which ended with Clementine shoving Weasley into the Black Lake, dress-robes be damned. Afterwards it had taken Charlie several days to wash the stink out of his hair, but longer still to ignore the guilt in his heart. 

So if anyone were to ask, Clementine Waters would say she possessed the average amount of patience one would expect of a sensible young witch...with one glaring exception. 

She would also like to add that she had forgotten all about Charlie Weasley's smug face and boyish good looks the moment he had left her behind to chase dragons around Romania. At least that was what she had been telling herself until he came barging back into her life nearly four years later. 

* * *


	3. The Book Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘He’s back.’

**THE BOOK CLUB**

The seaside village of Tinworth was as silent as the grave in the early hours of a new summer's day. A solitary lamppost in the main square burned through the haze of sea mist that had drifted in overnight, and the ever-present ebb of the ocean had been swallowed by the fog. 

Just beyond the main square, down a winding lane that was hidden to all except those who knew how to find it, a man appeared. 

He appeared so suddenly and silently, you'd have thought that he had just sprung from the cracks in the cobblestone beneath his buckled boots. The man glanced up and down the alley but his arrival hadn't seemed to have disturbed the empty street. At this hour, Ravenswick Lane was devoid of its usual bustling crowd of magical folk going about their daily shopping. 

Grey lampposts lined the street, casting a dim glow over the darkened shopfronts and the half-moon spectacles of the man who was busy rummaging through the dozens of pockets that lined his cloak. He finally found what he was looking for and pulled out what looked like a silver lighter. He flicked it open, held it in the air and clicked it. 

The nearest lamppost went out with a little _pop!_ He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. 

Albus Dumbledore clicked the Deluminator until the only source of light in Ravenswick Lane came from the retreating moon. He pocketed the unusual device and stood patiently as though waiting for something, or perhaps, for someone. 

He did not have to wait long. 

Several rapid _cracks!_ shattered the silence like a car backfiring. A cat streaked down the lane and out of sight, frightened by the racket. Six figures materialised in the misty darkness, as though they too had popped up from the ground. 

"Dumbledore?" A man called, his voice a low rasping growl.

"Over here, Alastor." Dumbledore replied, beckoning the man to join him. 

"Wotcher, Moody." A girlish voice said brightly, only to be shushed by the tall woman beside her who wore an emerald cloak and a disapproving look.

"Quiet, Nymphadora. You'll wake the whole street." 

Daring not to incite the ire of the woman, the rest of the group gathered together in silence in front of a blue door that was nearly overgrown with enormous orange chrysanthemums. 

They were all similarly dressed in peculiar clothes. Two wore long overcoats of magenta leather over three-piece suits. Another was dressed head to toe in brown tweed with a paperboy hat pulled low over their eyes. The strangest of the lot was a teenage boy with long black hair who was waring nothing but a fluffy purple dressing gown that flapped dangerously in the wind and a pair of tartan wellingtons. 

Dumbledore, who was dressed in what resembled a sky-blue bedsheet, strode up the steps to the blue door and drew his wand. He knocked twice and whispered a small enchantment that was carried away in the blustering wind that swirled around them. He adjusted the hat that had taken a jaunty slant atop his head and knotted his long fingers together. 

Hurried footsteps were heard before the blue door was flung open by a woman with frazzled brown hair and a wand clasped in her hand. Her rosy cheeks paled once she took in the small crowd of people that had assembled on her doorstep. She lowered her wand. 

"Albus - what in Merlin's-" 

"Sorry to impose at such an unfriendly hour, Ms. Honeycutt, but it is a matter of some urgency I'm afraid. Perhaps we'd best discuss this inside?" Dumbledore suggested, his jovial tone undermined by the serious glint in his eyes. 

Miranda Honeycutt, shaken from being woken from a deep sleep by a patronus whispering in her ear, cast a quizzical look at the group behind Dumbledore. An odder assembly of witches and wizards she had never seen. The grizzled appearance of ex-Auror Alastor Moody caught her eye and she quickly averted her gaze.

"Urgent matter? Oh - you'd best come inside then." Her hand patted the pink rollers in her hair before she moved aside to let them pass. 

"Wonderful." Dumbledore stepped over the threshold and around the flustered shop keeper. The rest of the group followed, shuffling past the short witch and into the cosy tea shop. 

The Honeycutt Tea House was a strange combination of what could only be described as a grandmother's cottage and the Gryffindor common room. Squashy armchairs in worn shades of peach and sage were arranged around a large fireplace. Mismatched chairs circled tables that were topped with vases of dried flowers. Behind a large wooden countertop and glass display cabinet was a wall packed to the rafters with tea tins, held up by what could only be have been magic. From the ceiling hung hundreds of teapots, floating as if suspended by invisible string. They clanked together and let out periodic puffs of steam as though freshly boiled. The comfortable room was lit with the soft glow of a side lamp that Miranda had flicked on before answering the door. 

Once the group was safely inside, Miranda shut the door and turned to face Dumbledore who was inspecting a small cherub ornament on one table with great interest. 

"What's happened, Albus?" Miranda's face paled further, "It's not Clem is it? Is she okay?" She questioned, wringing her hands together. 

"Miss Waters is just fine I'm sure, Ms. Honeycutt. I come on a different matter." Dumbledore soothed. "Are you expecting anyone here in the next few hours?" 

Miranda shook her head. "Only Clem, but she won't be here until seven to open the shop." 

"Ah, that should work nicely. Is there somewhere you would prefer to host us?" He asked pleasantly, glancing around the room. 

"Why don't you all go up to my private rooms?" Miranda suggested, pointing to the staircase that hugged the wall behind the far end of the counter. "Much more comfortable. I'll make us some tea and you can explain what's going on."

"Sounds brilliant – also, I wouldn't say no to a biccy if you have one-" The lanky boy in the dressing gown said, stifling a yawn.

His friend, a short witch with bubble-gum pink hair, elbowed him in the side. "Be nice, Tommy."

"Thank you kindly, Miranda." said Dumbledore with a dip of his head.

"I'll be up in a moment, make yourselves comfortable." said Miranda, already moving towards the doors that led to the kitchen.

Safely inside the kitchen, Miranda spied on the odd group through the window mounted in the kitchen door, watching them as they trudged up the stairs. 

_What were they doing here? And at this hour?_ It was well before dawn, and although he was an old friend, Dumbledore had not come to visit in some time. And now he brought the strangest group of witches and wizards with him. 

She recognised Dora Tonks of course. It was hard to miss that distinctive pink head of hers, especially since her and Clem had been practically attached at the hip when Clem had resumed what had once been her summer job at Honeycutt's, fresh out of Hogwarts. And there was no mistaking Mad-Eye Moody. The rest, she could only guess. 

She flicked her wand at the counter, her mind spinning with possibilities. Eight cups sprang into action, soaring from the shelves and onto a large serving tray with a full plate of oatmeal biscuits materialising beside them. Two of the teapots from the main room floated down from the rafters and burst into the kitchen, clanking noisily in appreciation when she added a healthy amount of tealeaves to each. 

Armed with the overladen tray, Miranda took a fortifying breath before she pushed her way out of the kitchen and started up the stairs with the teapots floating behind her. She could hear hushed voices arguing through the half-closed door to her private parlour.

"-know for sure? Could've been anyone."

"I highly doubt that, Tommy. I trust the boy."

Miranda slowed down and strained her ears.

"You really think he's back?" said a husky voice this time. It could have only been the tall woman.

"Considering his foul lackey kept me locked in a bleeding suitcase all year, I'd wager a guess towards yes." Came a disgruntled reply.

"Merlin, Moody – are you okay-"

"Fine, fine. The bastard's in custody now – he'll be dead by morning."

Miranda didn't have to see Alastor Moody's face as she entered her private sitting room to know he'd been smiling at the horrible notion.

"Here we are." announced Miranda, who settled the plate on the long dining table that had been conjured with eight chairs around it. "Help yourselves."

She twitched her wand and the cups sprouted legs and scurried into position in front of each visitor.

The fireplace at the end of the room roared to life with another swish of her wand and a murmured_ incendio_. Miranda sat herself near the head of the table next to a man with fearsome scars down one cheek and a patched jacket slung across the back of his chair. He offered her a weary smile that did little to quell the unease brewing in her stomach. 

"Cheers." The dressing-gown-wearing youth bobbed his head in her direction and reached for a biscuit.

There was a brief moment of solace while the assembled group all fixed themselves cups of tea.

"I dare say some introductions are warranted." said Dumbledore after a lengthy pause. He stood behind the chair at the head of the table, his long fingers gripping the backrest. He turned to Miranda. "You know Alastor and Auror Tonks, of course."

The pink-haired witch gave Miranda a wiggle of her fingers, "Wotcher, Mandy." 

Alastor who sat beside the grinning teen sat hunched in his chair, magical eye whirling in sickening circles in his head. "Hurry it up, Dumbledore." He growled. 

"This is Kingsley Shacklebolt." Dumbledore continued, gesturing to a man with lavishly embroidered purple robes. 

"Ma'am." Broad-shouldered Kingsley addressed Miranda, looking awfully cramped in the spindly chairs that had been conjured for the purpose of the meeting.

"Remus Lupin." The man beside her shook her hand. Despite his salt and pepper hair and weary eyes, he could not have been more than thirty years old. The scars that marred his face aged him.

"And this is Emmeline Vance and her nephew, Tommy Fenwick." said Dumbledore. The tall woman with long dark hair and an elegant green cloak gave Miranda a tight smile that spoke volumes to her comfort in being in the room. Tommy in his dressing-gown looked hardly of age but gave her a toothy grin, the only one who looked pleased to be there.

"Everybody, this is Miranda Honeycutt. The owner of this fine establishment." Dumbledore introduced, a genuine smile gracing his face – the first of that night. Miranda gave a nervous half-wave to the group who mumbled another round of greetings back.

"Now that that's bloody well over, can we get started, Dumbledore? Some of us have places to be tonight." grumbled Moody, knocking his cane against the table.

"My apologies, Alastor. You're quite right. I must return to Hogwarts post-haste."

"What's going on, Albus?" Miranda asked for the third time that night. Something tight was turning in her chest that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Dumbledore moved towards the small window that overlooked Ravenswick Lane and sighed.

"I assume you all have been following the news of the Triwizard Tournament." He said heavily, still facing the window.

There were general murmurs of assent and Miranda nodded, the gears in her brain still turning. 

"Then it may come of a shock to you to hear that Cedric Diggory is dead."

Miranda clapped a hand to her mouth and Emmeline Vance bowed her head.

"Dead?" whispered Miranda, struck dumb. Of all the things she had thought would result in Albus Dumbledore showing up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, that had not been one. "I thought the Tournament – I mean, there haven't been – how...how did it happen?"

Dumbledore said nothing, eyes trapped on the greying sky. 

"He was killed. Murdered by the Dark Lord." Moody cut in, looking as though he was well and truly fed up with the pace of Dumbledore's internal deliberation. 

Several around the table grimaced at Moody's mention of the name that hadn't been uttered in nearly fourteen years - except for whispered conversations held in the privacy of one's own home - but didn't look surprised by his news.

_They've heard this already,_ Miranda belatedly realised.

"He's not – that's – not _You-Know-Who_. He's supposed to be dead." said Miranda, aghast. Tea forgotten, she wrung her hands. The horribly familiar prickle down her spine could have only been fear, and she shivered, drawing in her dressing gown tighter. 

"Not dead, no. Not even after that fateful night at Godric's Hollow. Voldemort has been waiting, he has chosen his moment to return carefully." Dumbledore bowed his head, oblivious to those around the table flinching at the casual use of his name. "If Harry Potter is to be believed then tonight, he has risen once more."

His words hung heavy in the air, like some untouchable beast. Miranda twisted her hands with vigour. 

"If he is back-" Tommy Fenwick started, his fingers pulverising his biscuit into minuscule crumbs. "If he really is back...what do you want us to do about it? That's why we're here, right?"

Dumbledore finally turned away from the window where the sun was just starting to break across the horizon. His blue eyes peered over the tops of his glasses and settled on the assembled group of witches and wizards. His chosen few. For a moment, he looked at them like a general surveying his troops. Then he smiled, the spell broke, and he tucked his long beard into his lap before taking his seat at the table.

"Ah, my dear boy. I'm glad you asked."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"You almost forget there's so much at stake." said Remus Lupin, rubbing his tired eyes. "Last time-" He stifled a jaw-cracking yawn. "–last time we weren't careful enough in the beginning. That's how we lost the McKinnon's."

"And my dad." said Tommy Fenwick bitterly, still intently focused on grinding his biscuit crumbs into the grain of the table with his thumb. Vance, beside him, reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"And your dad." Moody echoed. "Great lad that Benjy – a great wizard. Didn't deserve what happened to him."

The rest nodded, lost in the memories of the past. Miranda remembered the stories of the first Order of the Phoenix. She had been much younger then, but had been sidelined as she was caring for her elderly father at the time. She remembered poor Benjy Fenwick. They only ever found bits of him.

Dumbledore had left shortly after re-forming the Order of the Phoenix. He had parted with only one instruction to the remaining few - they were to find allies to bolster their ranks. The Order would need a considerable amount of those willing to fight for the cause if Harry Potter was to be believed and the enormity of their situation weighed on Miranda like a rock in the pit of her stomach. 

Dumbledore was followed not long after by Auror's Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks – both who had been called back the Ministry with a letter from an owl that swooped in after daybreak. 

Hogwarts would be crawling with Ministry Officials with Cedric Diggory's death. The Ministry would do their best to control the damage, but inevitably, people would start to panic. Deaths didn't happen at Hogwarts without cause. And by the sounds of it, the Ministry were more than reluctant to announce that You-Know-Who had returned. 

Those left at the table were all waiting for the Daily Prophet to break the news, no doubt it would be splashed out on the front page this morning. Miranda had already sent an owl off to Maggie Huxley, a close friend of Clem's who worked as an intern in the publishing office, searching for insider news on the Prophet's stance on the state of things.

The question of how the Ministry would react to the return of You-Know-Who was yet to be answered. Miranda was glad she was not either Dora nor Shacklebolt at the present moment.

The contemplative silence of the group upstairs was shattered by the loud bang of front door swinging open. Mad-Eye disapparated straight out of the parlour with a bark of "Constant vigilance!" before he vanished in a whirl of dirty overcoats. For a man who had been kept inside his own trunk for the better part of a year by a fanatical supporter of the Dark Lord, he was surprisingly in form. 

Remus leant back in his seat as though it was nothing out of the ordinary and cracked his neck with a sharp twist.

"It's getting late – well, early. I'd best be off." Remus finally declared, pushing away his third cup of tea after glancing at his wristwatch.

"This time will be different." Emmeline assured, also standing up to find her cloak. "We're already more prepared than we were last time. We just have to be careful."

"I'd best show you out. That'll be Clem downstairs." said Miranda, pushing back the curlers in her hair that had drooped a considerable amount. Tommy stood and re-tied the loose drawstring on his dressing gown.

"Now, before we go, I have one request - I should have made plain with Dumbledore before he left but I suppose one of you will be able to pass along the message." Miranda started. 

Emmeline Vance gave her an encouraging nod and Miranda took a deep breath. 

"I don't want Clem or her family involved in any of this - and before you tell me no, just know I won't hear a word in edgeways." Miranda demanded, holding a hand up to stop Remus' protest. "I know you may need her, but that girl has been through more than you or I could ever understand. I won't have it. Clem stays out of this - understood?" 

Cowed, Remus shuts his mouth but nods. "Dumbledore won't be pleased." 

"Dumbledore will have to find someone else. That girl is to stay out of this." Miranda warned. "Besides, I'm sure he has plenty of allies waiting in the Ministry. This-" she gestured to those who remained in the room, "can't have been everyone in the Order." 

"It is for now." Remus said, pulling on his jacket. "But there are more who will need to be informed. I know Padfoot could only get to so many last night. We still need to get word to our international contacts that _He's_ back." 

"Padfoot?" Emmeline said, surprised. "You don't mean-" 

"I'll tell you later." Remus promised with a wink, cutting her off. 

Ignoring the secret that seemed to pass between them, Miranda tightened her dressing gown. "Got your things?" She asked, pointing her wand to the stay teacups on the table. The cups once again sprouted legs and dawdled back to the serving tray, looking distinctly put out. "You'll have to sneak out if you don't want to be seen. I can hear Clem in the kitchen." 

"Lead the way." said Tommy, squeaking slightly as he moved about in his tartan wellies.

Miranda pushed open the door and slowly made her way down the noisy staircase, the rest of the Order following closely behind. Clem sounded busy in the kitchen. She could hear the oven doors being opened and closed and a whisk clinking against the side of a glass bowl. The fireplace in the corner of the main room had been lit and flames crackled merrily in the hearth. The enormous wireless behind the counter had been flicked on and soft tunes from the witching hour station tinkled through.

The doors to the kitchen swung open just as Miranda stepped off the last stair on the staircase and she froze as though she was a naughty child found out of bed. In the doorway was Clementine Waters, the spitting image of her late mother in flour-dusted jeans and chin-length blonde hair, who came out holding an overladen tray of fresh scones the size of small boulders. Her bright blue eyes flicked up and took in the exceedingly odd scene before her; Miranda who was still in her bed things with her hair up in rollers, accompanied by three people who were all trying to stay out of sight behind her.

"Oh hello." Clem said, a question forming on her lips. "Who are-"

"Book club!" blurted Miranda.

"Book club?" echoed Clem, bemused.

"Yes - er, thanks for the novel, Ms. Honeycutt." said Remus after an awkward pause.

Clem watched the woman and two men - one of which, she noticed, was in nothing but a purple dressing gown of all things - filed one by one out of the tea house. Miranda shooed her guests from her doorstep and turned around to face Clem who was looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"It's six-thirty." said Clem slowly.

"Ah - I'd best get ready for the day. Thanks for the scones, pumpkin. They look lovely." Miranda babbled, starting up the stairs again to the second floor where her private rooms resided. "If you're able to get the lemon bars started and then nip down to the grocers before we open - I think we're low on cardamom pods. That's a dear."

"That's not what I - oh never mind." said Clem. She wiped a clean hand over the back of her cheek. "Will do, Mandy." She called towards Miranda's retreating back. 

It was time to get to work.  
  
  
  
  


☽☾  
  
  
  
  


**AUTHOR'S NOTE.**

  
Another update will be coming soon, so stay tuned. As always, your comments are appreciated, so please let me know what you think. 


	4. The Honeycutt Tea House

"Have you seen this yet, Mandy?" Clem pushed her way into the kitchen of the Honeycutt Tea House later that morning, waving a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hand.

Miranda, or Mandy as Clem had always called her, had her head down, inspecting a dough that refused to rise. Without a head full of rollers, her greying hair was a cloud of bouncing curls that floated around a face streaked with flour. She looked up as Clem walked in, shooting her a tired smile that dropped off her face once she saw what she was holding. 

"What's that, Pumpkin?" Miranda asked.

"The Prophet." Clem knocked the loosely rolled copy of the newspaper against the wooden island with an irritated sigh. "Cedric Diggory died last night during the third task - I can't believe it. Have you heard about it already?"

Miranda gave her a look she couldn't decipher but shook her head. "No but how awful. He always was a delightful boy." She reminisced, "Used to come to Honeycutt's with his mother during the summer..." She trailed off, noticing the slight sheen that Clem's eyes had taken.

"Could you pass me that rolling pin? Thanks dear." She bypassed the subject entirely, pointing to the rolling pin that sat by her elbow. 

Clem handed Miranda the wooden pin without looking up, her eyebrows knitted and nose buried in the Prophet. "Listen to this - _The final task of the historical Triwizard Tournament has unfolded in tragedy, writes Barnaby Jot, Special Correspondent. Shocking scenes emerged from the Third Task following the appearance of the Boy Who Lived who was seen holding the lifeless body of fellow champion, Cedric Diggory. Traumatised students watched on in horror as Diggory's parents, Amos and Isobel Diggory, faced with the deceased body of their son – dissolved into hysterics. The circumstances behind the tragic incident have not yet been released from the Ministry of Magic_ – yada yada – oh, here we go – _Questions still remain about Harry Potter's potential involvement in the death of his fellow peer, and also of the aptitude of Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_." read Clem with wrinkled brow. Merlin, she hated the press. 

"I can't believe they are dragging poor old Albus into this." Miranda said, abandoning the rolling pin in favour of kneading the shaggy dough. 

"There's more." Clem said hotly. "_Dumbledore has been involved in several scandals over the last year involving the controversial staff appointments of Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody and part-human Rubeus Hagrid, and now parents of the students of Hogwarts are calling for his immediate removal from the school. Dumbledore has yet to respond to the allegations that his misjudgement on the safety of the Tournament has led to the death of a student._" She slapped the open pages of the Prophet down onto Miranda's bench, sending up a cloud of flour. "What a load of rubbish."

"The Prophet always exaggerates – they like to turn people's words. You know that better than anyone, Pumpkin." Miranda soothed.

"I know. I just remember when he was just a kid at Hogwarts – Merlin, what a mess." Clem looked down at the paper. The photograph of Cedric Diggory on the front page of the Prophet grinned back with unblinking eyes.

"Come on, give me that." Miranda abandoned the separated dough and bustled around the kitchen island, pulling the copy of the Prophet out from under Clem's fingers. The heading 'DEATH AT HOGWARTS' caught her eye. She squeezed Clem's arm with a sticky hand before bustling to the other side of the kitchen while Clem surreptitiously dried her eyes.

"Why don't you take this out to Mrs. Dunbar? She's sitting next to the portrait of the biting teacup." Miranda offered, holding out an enormous cup of tea that was filled with a liquid that glittered under the bright morning light streaming in from the open windows. Clem could tell Miranda was just trying to make her feel better, despite the painful shock she'd been given by the newspaper. She'd thought that the Tournament was safe. How could it not be, with Dumbledore watching over the students? And yet, Diggory was dead and Harry Potter was somehow involved. He always seemed to be, with this sort of thing. 

"Okay." conceded Clem. "Give it here." She plucked the tea cup delicately from Miranda's hands and made an effort to pull herself together, if only for Miranda's sake. 

"That's a girl." said Miranda fondly. "Now shoo, I need to get a crack on or these'll never be made."

Clem gave Miranda a wobbly smile and pushed her back against the kitchen door and out into the busy tea rooms. She didn't typically get weepy. She was more of a hold-it-in-and-cry-into-your-pillow-later kind of girl but there was something about the tragedy of Cedric's death that hit hard. Or maybe it was just approaching that time of year - she always found it hard to function around the week of the anniversary. 

Clem manoeuvred her way through the tables with a familiar ease. She had worked at Honeycutt's since her sixth year at Hogwarts, but back then it had only been during the summer. She had been desperate for freedom and money and had known Miranda since she was a little girl. The job had come as a blessing in a difficult time in her life. She owed Miranda everything. Even after she graduated from Hogwarts and the rest of her friends took up their dream jobs in London, Clem had returned back to Tinworth to resume her summer job and to tinker in her mother's old potions lab when she had the time.

She often had to remind herself to swallow her bitterness at watching her friends live exciting lives while hers never seemed to go anywhere. It was like she was stuck in time in Tinworth, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything to change it. She liked working in her mother's lab, and she liked the tea house. So what if she had to listen to Maggie and Siofra talk about the amazing things happening at their jobs every few weeks when they all caught up? Clem straightened her spine - she could handle it.

If felt like more people than usual were crammed into the tea room today. The usually peaceful atmosphere was now operating at a low rumble as witches, young and old, gathered together in groups of threes and fours to gossip over pots of tea and towers of scones. Clem suspected it had something to do with the Daily Prophet's that were open on every table.

"Morning, Mrs. Dunbar. How are you today?" asked Clem loudly, sidling up to their particularly deaf regular.

Mrs. Dunbar had been coming to the Honeycutt Tea House for as long as Clem had been working there – longer still, even. She lived in a dilapidated manor on the hill and shuffled her way into town once a week to collect her post from the Owl Office and complain about the quality of tea they served in Honeycutt's. It was Miranda's personal mission to find the perfect kind of tea for Mrs. Dunbar. 

"What do you want, girl?" Mrs. Dunbar barked, looking off to Clem's left - she was also as blind as a bat. "Speak up!"

"I have your tea here, Mrs. Dunbar." said Clem, almost shouting at this point. She resolutely ignored the scandalous looks the witches at the table beside Mrs. Dunbar's were giving her.

"Ah." Mrs. Dunbar looked considerably less grouchy. "Put it down then. What has Mandy cooked up today?"

"Cup of oolong, Mrs. Dunbar." Clem placed the tea cup on the rickety old table by her elbow and guided Mrs. Dunbars wrinkled hand towards it.

"A good cup of oolong cures the soul. Best served black - splash of milk. I trust you didn't skimp on the sugars this time."

"No, Mrs. Dunbar. Six sugars, like you asked." Clem said dutifully, already edging back as Mrs. Dunbar went to take her first sip. 

"Girl!"

"Yes, Mrs. Dunbar?" Clem replied cautiously.

"Bring one of those lemon slice's over. How you expect me to drink this rubbish without something sweet, only Merlin knows. Oh and tell that Mandy to find something different for tomorrow - this tastes like backwashed drain-cleaner." Mrs. Dunbar barked, taking another sip of her tea.

Cheeks turning red, Clem could only manage a strangled "Yes ma'am," and dashed for the glass counter where Cassie, Miranda's oldest daughter, was minding the till.

"Cassie, I'll pay you a galleon to take Mrs. Dunbar a lemon slice." Clem pleaded with a tinge of desperation. 

Cassie, genial like her mother, flashed her a brilliant mirthful smile. "Ha - not a chance." She looked over to where Mrs. Dunbar was talking loudly at some scandalised witches on the table beside her, before looking down at Clem. "You're all on your own with that one, sorry Clem."

"Two galleons." She bartered without pause.

"Not a chance." Cassie swotted at Clem with a tea towel which she dodged, laughing. "She's a nightmare, that one. Drives mum insane."

"She's also blinder than a bat. Probably thinks I'm still there." Clem giggled, accepting the plate that Cassie passed her with a golden lemon slice that was delicately dusted in a layer of sugar.

"Off you go, and be quickish about it. I don't think Mum can handle a meltdown from ole'Dunbar today."

"Is Mandy okay? I noticed something's been off with her all day." Clem asked in an undertone as two witches brushed past in search of an empty table.

Cassie's mouth pinched, "I noticed too. Must be to do with the news this morning. I don't think I've seen so many crying witches in here since Gilderoy Lockheart was next door for his book signing." She rolled her eyes.

Clem couldn't help the groan that bubbled up, "Merlin, don't remind me. Alright, time to face the beast." She joked with a grim expression. Cassie snorted.

"Stop stalling."

"I'm not. Okay, okay - I'm going, I'm going...Dora?" Clem's voice raised in incredulity as she caught sight of a very familiar pink head of hair in her peripherals as a young witch in a leather overcoat pushed open the blue door to the Tea House, bells jingling. "What are you doing here?"

"Wotcher, Clem." Nymphadora Tonks replied, a sheepish grin and faint blush colouring her cheeks, looking for all the world like someone who had just been caught in the middle of something they shouldn't have been doing. "Er - surprise?" 


End file.
